Coulson is drunk and concussed, but thankfully he doesn't throw up on Clint and Natasha as they help him back to his room. He does reek of alcohol, though he seems to have recovered exponentially from his completely inebriated state at the Reaping. The two teens manage to make it to the door, and Clint puts Coulson's full weight against him.
"You go, I'll help him get out of this stupid suit," the blonde says, and Natasha nods, backing away slightly as Clint opens the door.
"Hey, my suit is not stupid," Coulson slurs in protest.
"Sure it isn't."
The man grumbles something unintelligible before he looks over to Natasha and narrows his eyes. Natasha braces herself for some insult or something. "Your hair is beautiful."
"Okie dokie. Say goodbye to Natasha now," Clint says, grinning, as if he were speaking to a child.
"Bye 'Tasha." The older man gives her a drunk smile and waves, and Natasha gives an amused smirk and a small wave in return as Clint pulls the man into his room.
"Are you sure you don't need help?" she calls after Clint.
"Yep. He's a nice drunk," the teen responds. "Best kind of drunk there is. I'll catch you later." She's grateful, because tucking Coulson into bed didn't appeal to her much right now.
"Yeah." She closes the door behind her, shaking her head. Admittedly, Natasha is trying to clear the bad thoughts away, but her mind inevitably betrays her. He's buddying up to Coulson so he can get out of here. No, she's being paranoid. Clint is her best friend. Clint's a nice guy. But when the Games arrive, maybe he won't be. Natasha shakes her head. No, he'll be dead, like me.
"That's not much of a consolation," she says aloud.
"What was that?" An attendant she hadn't noticed stand a way down the hallway, looking at her curiously.
"Nothing," she muttered, turning quickly and scurrying down the corridor to her room. The door shuts behind her, and standing in the dark room with only silence as her company, she can close her eyes and imagine she is back home. Jemma and Leo sit on the old couch a few feet away, arguing about something they learned in school that day and why exactly the teacher was wrong. Grant sits on the floor in front of them, shuffling a worn, yellowed deck of cards. May is at the dining table, wiping the coal dust off her face with a rag and discretely listening to the younger kids conversation and chuckling.
"Ugh." Natasha pushes her hair back as she walks over to the giant window and looks out at the night as it sped past. Better get some sleep, Natasha, while you have a free moment. The voice in her head now sounds oddly like Melinda's, and she pushes back another wave of homesickness. Sighing, she slowly gets into bed, pulling the silky sheet over her. She basks in the feeling for a moment, because damn, is it comfortable. Natasha closes her eyes and falls asleep almost immediately.
Her dream is not so much a dream than a memory. It is of one of the few times she took the kids into the woods.
Natasha stands back as Jemma and Leo collect strawberries from a decent little patch, and to her right the fence is visible through the trees. Clint and Grant march through the undergrowth to her left, to go check some of the closer snares. That's all it is. Natasha listens to the banter Jemma and Leo have, and eventually the other boys come back with two rabbits. Other than that... There's no profound significance. It just makes her happy.
She wakes up when it's still dark outside. All Natasha can think about are those woods, the world beyond the fence that became her second home.
She was eleven the first time she stepped into the woods after moving in with Melinda. Jemma and Leo were six, having moved in two year previous. Grant hadn't joined their family yet. It was the fall, and Melinda had fallen ill. She was so sick, she couldn't work in the mines for a week, which meant no pay. Natasha insisted the money go to medicine for Melinda, and when Melinda initially protested that it should go to food, she relented when the girl pointed out that she would be back to work sooner.
Natasha went without much or any food for a few days, giving whatever she had to the six-year-olds, though they weren't too much better off. Honestly, they hadn't been well off when Melinda was working. The wage was small, and feeding three extra kids you never planned on was hard. Natasha spent those few starving days wondering what the hell she could do, then wondering if she could actually do it, then finally making up her mind.
After school one day, she walked Leo and Jemma home, grabbed a few things and shoved them in a bag before throwing it over her shoulder. She past her old house on the edge of the Seam, but couldn't bring herself to look at it.
That first time she hardly got twenty feet into the woods. She set a few snares, and found a nice bush of berries to bring home. She filled her bag with them, and for the first time in a week the family wasn't hungry. Natasha made up her mind that she would go back.
And she did, almost everyday, and every time, she ventured further, learned what traps and snares worked, and brought back enough to help Melinda support themselves. Soon enough she managed to grab enough to trade, and gathered useful information on what to trade with who. Like the mayor's wife, who loved strawberries. And when she turned twelve, she signed up for tesserae.
Natasha made a few trips to her old house, but it was a bit dangerous doing so. The previous winter had a heavy snowfall and the half the roof collapsed. On her third try she found her mother's old book that she had from her parent's apothecary shop. There were drawings of plants and information on healing in it, but her father had added names and drawings of edible plants.
Natasha also lucked out and befriended one Clint Barton - well, he forced her into being friends with his antics and goofy charm. They became an excellent hunting duo - making snares and nets to catch fish, and managing to even take down bigger game - and he made the lessened the burden until it was almost nonexistent. Sure, they had to work their butts off to make sure their families were full, but somehow Clint always found the light in the dark, and even managed to give something to to the families without anyone to care for them when the passed them in the streets.
Clint wasn't her savior, he wasn't her night in shining armor - he was an idiot with dumb luck seemingly always on his side that somehow managed to squirm his way into her heart, like a parasite. He was her best friend, and she loved him.
Now, they were both sentenced to die. Their families would watch them take their last breathes before they get shipped home in a coffin.
Would Barney stay with Natasha's family? He probably would, Melinda would insist. Would they watch? Melinda would watch the others from the kitchen, leaning against the counter they way she does when she just wants to observe them. Barney probably wouldn't watch. He gets too fired up at the injustice of the Capitol and paces angrily. Grant, her little soldier, will comfort the younger kids and put on a strong face. How would Leo and Jemma fair, though?
Natasha didn't have a clue. The last Games they just played cards and tried to ignore the TV, though every once and a while they'd glance up. But now that Natasha and Clint were in it? No. Those two couldn't bare any of the gruesome stuff - the killings, they slower deaths from nature.
The girl rolls onto her back and looks at the windows across from her. In the distance, the lights of another district dance by. 7? 9? She doesn't care enough to speculate. She thinks about those already asleep for the night. Her own house, with the shutters closed. I hope they ate the strawberries, Natasha are the kids holding up? How are the adults holding up? Melinda will undoubtedly have company in her bed tonight. Grant might even join them.
Feeling pinpricks in the corners of her eyes, Natasha shuts them tight in a futile attempt to keep the tears at bay. It's only as she rubs them does she realize how tired her eyes are, how much she wants to lay her head against the pillow and allow the train to rock her to sleep.
So, with a sniffle, the newest tribute rolls over and does just that.
Gray light leaks through the curtains. A knocking at the door wakes Natasha up to hear Maria Hill's voice telling her to get up.
"Wake up, Miss Romanoff! It's a big, big, big day!"
"What is it like in that head of yours, Miss Hill?" Natasha asks after she hears the footsteps trail off. She decides she couldn't possibly imagine it, and kicks off her blankets. Stretching her arms, the bracelet catches her attention. She grabs her wrist and inspects the delicate looking chain. As she gets up she hopes she won't accidentally break it in these next few days. Natasha smooths her shirt and pants, deciding not to change. They're hardly dirty, so why bother?
She inspects her hair in a mirror in the hall and combs through her curls with her fingers. It looks fine, just a few fly-aways the refused to be smoothed down. Briefly, Natasha wonders what the stylist will do to her, once they reach the Capitol. She wrinkles her nose at the though at being forced into a skimpy coal miner's costume, or worse. I hope they don't send us out naked! Natasha cringes at the thought.
She enters the dining car, Maria passing her with a mug of bitter smelling coffee, muttering very creative obscenities under her breath. Natasha crooks her eyebrow and turns to look at the two sitting at the table.
Coulson has his eyes closed and is nursing a coffee, obviously feeling that alcohol and stage dive combo from last night. Clint is... doing exactly what she would expect him to do: shoveling food into his face at an alarming rate. She's mildly surprised; he's remembered to use a fork, not his hands.
Natasha slides into her chair and is served an enormous plate of food. It could be a meal for her, Jemma, and Leo. Eggs, ham, potatoes. She eyes the potatoes hungrily and reaches for her fork. Orange juice, coffee, and some other drink is placed in front of her.
She picks up the coffee and sips it. Sometimes, when they saved up for weeks, Melinda would buy a bag of coffee beans. She and Natasha would sit outside on the stoop and savor it, enjoying the comfortable silence in one another's company. Jemma and Leo hated coffee, but Grant tried to act grown-up and claimed to like it. He hated it too.
She eyes the servants as they bring out fresh fruit on ice and a big basket of rolls, which Clint immediately attacks. Coulson looks up briefly at her before rubbing his head.
Clint has a roll in his mouth when he turns to Natasha. She chuckles and he grins at her, before taking it out. "Drink the hot chocolate," he says.
"Hot chocolate?" she repeats. That must be the third mug. She holds it to her lips, then looks to Clint for confirmation. He nods eagerly, smiling wider. She takes a sip and lets out of hum. "Delicious."
"I know, I've had two already!" He goes back to eating, and Natasha hides her grin behind the mug.
She eats until she can't eat anymore, then twirls a fork between her fingers. Clint somehow manages to keep eating, dunking a roll into another mug of hot chocolate. Maria - still quite groggy looking - eats a pancake drowned in syrup, and Coulson has powdered sugar coating his fingers. He face is stoic, no where near the happy drunk he was yesterday.
"So," Natasha begins awkward. "You're supposed to give us advice."
"Here's some advice: stay alive," Coulson snaps.
"Excuse him, Miss Romanoff," Maria says, eyes still of her coffee. "He gets a bit -" She glances at him, a small smile on her face. "- testy when he's hungover."
"I get a bit testy when I'm being thrown into an arena to fight for my life," Clint responds blankly. Natasha kicks his leg. He jumps and glares at her.
"Look, you two are just lucky I got him donuts." Maria points at them, looking them both in the eyes before continuing eating.
"Did I get a pair of fighters?" Coulson asks, eyeing them curious. Clint nodded and Natasha shrugs. "Well, okay then. What can you do?"
Clint starts. "I'm good-"
"Great," Natasha interrupts.
"- with a bow and arrows."
Coulson nods. "You hunt." It's not a question. "Anything else?"
Clint shrugs in response, before grabbing a fork and throwing it hard at the wall. Natasha had no idea where he was going with that - it was a fork - but it stuck between to panels. Natasha gapes at the blond, who grins triumphantly.
Coulson blinks and turns to look at Maria. They seem to share something telepathically, nodding to each other before looking at Natasha. "What can you do?" he asks her.
"He stole it," Natasha mutters, giving Clint a look.
"What?" Coulson asks, looking between them.
"Nothing," Natasha answers. Grabbing her butter knife, she knows how much of a long shot it is. It's not a throwing knife. She tosses it in the air a few time before gripping the blade and throwing it at Clint's fork. It stick in the panel between the tongs of the fork.
"Holy shit." Clint laughs and shoves Natasha. As she grins and pushes him back, so notices Coulson lean back in his chair.
"Okay," Maria interrupts. "They're attractive enough." The teens turn to look at the women.
"The stylists will help, too," Coulson agrees. Natasha nods; the attractive tributes always get the sponsors, even though it's not some beauty contest.
"And they're certainly not hopeless."
"Yeah, great." Clint waves a hand, before looking at them sternly, looking a lot like his brother. "So, any advice?"
The man nods. "Listen, and do exactly as I say." This is going to be great.
"Okay. Now, what's the best strategy for dealing with the Cornucopia." Coulson holds up a hand to stop him.
"One thing at a time. We're going to pull into the station really soon, and we're going to hand you over to your stylists. Do everything they ask of you, even if you don't like it." He glances nervously at Maria. "I know, some of the costumes have been... less than desirable, but just try to make it as painless as possible, okay?" He offers the kids a smile, and Clint only halfway returns it.
The outside of the car is surrounded in black. They must have been going through the mountains. It must have only been a minute or so that the go through the tunnel, but Natasha squirms in her seat, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. The train begins to slow and sunlight floods back into the cars.
Clint stands and offers Natasha his arm; together they walk to the windows to get their first glance at the Capitol. She hear Clint gasp, and she can't help but do so too as she glimpses the metropolis. The building shine in the sun, cars speed down paved roads, the people are dressed even more oddly and flamboyantly than she'd ever seen. The colors seem to bright. Natasha rubs at her eyes before looking at the boy beside her. His eyes are full of wonder, taking in everything he can as the train speeds along.
The people recognize the tribute train and point, laughing and yelling in seas of color and circus outfits. Natasha stumbles back, not wanting them to see her, but Clint catches her arm.
"It's okay, 'Tasha," he says gently, pulling her back to the window. He smiles and waves - waves - at the brightly colored idiots.
They want to see us die! she wants to scream.
Clint looks at her and shrugs. "One might be rich, make a good sponsor."
He wants sponsors. He's trying to win. He's going to kill her. Natasha shakes her head. So what if he hasn't given up? So what if he doesn't want to die, or if he just wants a fair fight? She looks to the adoring crowd.
He nudges her with his elbow, waving and smiling exaggeratively. He's trying to help her.
Natasha trusts him. She forces a smile and she waves. I haven't given up either.
A/N: Hey, look! An update! (Insert lame excuse for not updating even though I had all summer.) Anyways, uh, I'm tired, so please don't think of me too poorly if you find any typos. See you... whenever. May the odds be in your favor, and all that jazz.